Gregory Diablo Pack Review

It was probably inevitable that a Boy Scout became the founder of a backpack company; go on enough campouts, wilderness treks, and Jamborees, and you quickly develop an appreciation for materials and designs that are comfortable, durable, and versatile enough to deal with a wide range of conditions.



That’s the back story for Gregory Mountain Products, a Sacramento-based company founded by former Boy Scout Wayne Gregory. Throughout his career, Gregory has proven to be an innovator in backpack design, and pioneered several developments that improved both the ergonomics and performance quality of all the packs in his catalog.

That catalog has grown pretty extensive, as today you can find more than 35 different men’s models (and an equal number of female-specific models) on the company website. They’re divided into categories that a novice shopper may find hard to distinguish – what exactly is the difference between All-Mountain and Mountaineering, anyway? – and offer something for everybody, whether you’re leading alpine climbing expeditions (scroll to Chris Warner on that link) or just cruising around campus scoping out the babes.

Gregory Diablo pack

Towards the latter end of that spectrum is a category of Active Trail packs that are designed with running in mind, and the lightest of those is the Diablo, which I’ve been using for the better part of three months. (Incidentally, two other packs in this line are called Miwok and Wasatch – think there’s a chance someone at Gregory is an ultrarunning fan?). It incorporates several of the innovations Gregory developed for its larger packs, with a low overall profile that isn’t nearly as bulky as standard backpacks.

Main compartment with 70-oz CamelBak reservoir

The Active Trail models are also designed to be used as hydration packs, but they don’t come with their own fluid reservoirs. I used a 70-oz Camelbak reservoir which fits perfectly in the compartment closest to my body. The rest of the main cargo area has two additional sleeves to separate items if necessary. Overall cargo capacity for the Diablo is 6L (352 cubic in), and most of it is in this main compartment area.

A bit of tube trouble

Lacking a dedicated hydration reservoir of its own production poses some minor concerns for Gregory that I experienced firsthand. While the 70-oz CamelBak bladder fits perfectly, the Diablo wouldn’t be compatible with a 100-oz reservoir, or a 70-oz offering from other companies (such as Hydrapak, whose rectangular reservoirs seem to be showing up more and more often lately). And with my particular CamelBak tube, there was a definite fit problem with tube placement: while the mouthpiece easily made it through the main exit port, it couldn’t fit through the narrow sleeve of the shoulder harness (see photo above). I ended up tucking the end of the tube below the chest strap to minimize bouncing, but it would be nice to see this element of the design updated for future versions.

Alos visible in the picture above, on the opposite shoulder strap as the bite valve, is a small bungee loop where you can hook the mouthpiece of your hydration tube. The bungee attachment is mounted with Velcro, so you can keep the cords around the mouthpiece when you pull it towards you to drink, and it snaps back into place afterward. It's kind of a cool idea, although I felt like I had to stretch my neck a bit to get to the mouthpiece when trying this.

Air-mesh back panels

Aside from the awkward tube placement, the Diablo rides very comfortably on my back even when fully loaded. Bouncing is minimized by an internal compression system with a cord on the shoulder harness to tighten the pack against your body as the fluid volume in the reservoir decreases. The aero-mesh moisture-wicking back panel also contributes to a high degree of comfort even on runs of several hours.

Multiple cargo options

Empty weight of the pack is 1.0 pounds, which is a minimal amount of weight for the amount of cargo storage it affords. In addition to the main storage compartments, the Diablo also features two mesh pockets built into the waist straps, which are large enough for cell phones, cameras, GPS gadgets, compressed maps, energy bars, or any other accessories that you need to access quickly on the go. They’re not as convenient as having pockets directly in front of you, but if you’re not hammering along at top speed, they’re not too difficult to access. The rear of the pack also has a large mesh pocket with bungee support for wet or sweaty items – this is where I stash my gloves, hat, and arm warmers after the sun has come up and I’ve still got a few hours of running to go.

If you’re into long adventure runs, or travelling light for speedy day hikes, the Diablo is a nice option to load up all the essentials you need along with your hydration system - as long as it’s a 70 oz. CamelBak. It’s not the best hydration pack option for ultrarunners seeking pure speed (in my book, Nathan still holds that honor), but if you’re OK with spending a little extra time on the trail and want to take a lot of stuff along with you, this pack is certainly worth a look.

The Gregory Diablo pack retails for $60 from Amazon.com as well as other online vendors.


*Product provided by Gregory Mountain Products
**See other product reviews on sidebar at right. If you have a product you’d like reviewed, contact me at info@runningandrambling.com.

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Big Sur Centipede

Even when I’m not actually doing the race, the week of the Big Sur Marathon can be a fairly busy time for me. In addition to our regular Monterey Herald columns, my friend Mike and I typically do a series of pre-race articles for the two or three days preceding the race, and a post-race recap for the next morning’s paper.

This past April was somewhat hectic for me already, with gear reviews, product development for Soft Star, trips to Yosemite and CLIF headquarters - and a couple of things I intended to post here ended up slipping through the cracks. So today’s post is one that helps me catch up, with another one on deck later in the week.

The following Monterey Herald article received nice feedback from a lot of the long-tenured veterans of our running community - especially the ones who are mentioned by name - as it recounted a story that many of them had forgotten. My friend Mike did most of the legwork on this one, since the event that’s described took place just before I moved to the Monterey Peninsula. It’s the story of a somewhat star-crossed centipede that somehow managed to run a very respectable marathon one year along the scenic Big Sur coast.

**
Running Life 4/23/10 “Big Sur Centipede”

One of the more unusual moments in Big Sur Marathon history took place in 1991, when a 26-leg centipede ran the race. At least, it started the race with 26 legs – the rest is something of a story.

Centipedes are typically seen at shorter, quirkier races such as San Francisco’s Bay to Breakers, but rarely in marathons, which are difficult enough for one person without your fate hinging on conditions of several other runners.

According to the International Centipede Congress - yes, really – official ‘Pedes must consist of 13 team members, measure at least 60 feet long, and have each runner connected by any non-polyester material. Twinkie feelers are to be worn on the head of each member, and the person in the rear wears a “stinger of appropriate design and toxicity.” All 13 must stay attached throughout the race and finish together.

Official rules get even weirder: A Lenichi Turn - a 360-degree rotation made famous by 18th-century Eastern European centipeders Oscar and Igatoo Lenichi - must be made twice in the race. One occurs at midrace, and another before the finish; neither of these shall interfere with other runners. The spirit of the Centipede is best captured in the official motto: “Length, Joy, Togetherness”.

Trust us, though - 26.2 miles is a very long way for anyone to be together. The ’91 Pede was the brainchild of Dr. Marc Lieberman, who gathered 13 runners of various abilities. 12 men - Marc, Mike (your Herald columnist), Doug Colton, Wally Kastner, Don King, Dean King, Pete Sullivan, Jim Eagle, Gus Halamandaris, Skip Latham, Jay Cook, and Charlie Engle – were joined by one brave woman, Julie Lyonhardt. They were tied together with a bungee cord around each waist, with a shared (if somewhat ambitious) goal of breaking 3 hours and 30 minutes.

The Pede started far back in the pack, crossing the start line 4 minutes after the gun. Shortly thereafter, disaster struck: as the centipede reeled in some slower runners, a newbie marathoner stopped without warning in the middle of the road to re-tie her sweatshirt directly in front of the Pede. The 13 runners couldn’t stop and became tangled in bungees, with several falling. Pete Sullivan was injured so badly that he couldn’t continue, and the Pede’s numbers were down to 12, making it “officially unofficial”.

Good miles lay ahead, as the Pede gradually picked up momentum, completed a successful Linichi turn on Bixby Bridge, told jokes, sang songs, talked to other runners and had a great time until about mile 21, when attrition began to take its toll. Wally and Jim both aggravated previous knee injuries and were forced to unhook. Gus, undertrained but overdetermined, was struggling – so badly that the other 9 runners can still show you their bungee cord burn scars from pulling him up the hills of Carmel Highlands that day.

Eventually, the remainder of the Pede completed another Lanichi turn just before the finish line, and completed the run successfully. In the 1991 results sheet you’ll see 10 runners with times of 3:33:44 to 3:33:47 – but with the 4 minute delayed start (before the era of chip timing), the sub 3:30 goal was met.

An epilogue to the story: Wally is now better known as Race Director of the Big Sur Marathon. Charlie became one of the world’s craziest and most renowned ultra-runners. Mike and Julie got married in 1995. Gus and Pete never ran another Big Sur marathon. Marc put together one more centipede in the 1996 race, which remains the last time a centipede competed at Big Sur.

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VivoBarefoot Evo Running Shoe Review

Selling a product that’s in high demand is usually a good situation for a company to find itself in - but having something that’s in too much demand can be somewhat problematic as well. Just ask VivoBarefoot.


Since debuting its Evo running shoes in February, the company has scrambled to keep up with demand for them on both sides of the pond. Given that VivoBarefoot is based in the UK, customers in America were often at the end of the line when it came to availability. (And sometimes, as we’re accustomed to the dizzying speed of technology, information transfer, and virtually everything else in the digital age, we forget that mass transport of physical objects still takes a while. Most of VivoBarefoot’s US supply comes overseas by boat – and until someone invents the Bullet Ship, that process will continue to be a rate-limiting step.) It caused more than a bit of frustration both from customers who really wanted to try the Evo, as well as the company who was doing everything in their power to appease them.

Fortunately, VivoBarefoot is starting to catch up, and currently has a full supply of two colors – black and yellow – ready for purchase on its website, with a full restocking of colors in July. So now that they're actually available - for a while, at least - the timing seemed right for a standard review of my experience with the Evos thus far. (You can also click here if you missed my first loot at the Evo from March.)

VivoBarefoot Evo

The executive summary is this: I really, really like these shoes. I’ve put a lot of miles on them – at least 150 so far – in all sorts of conditions, and they may be the most dependable all-purpose minimalist shoes I’ve tested. There are a couple of minor fit issues that are noticeable but don’t impact performance or comfort (for me, anyway). They come with an expensive price tag, but if you’re looking for a single option to cover every possible scenario for minimalist running, the Evo is probably worth the investment. For a more detailed discussion, read on.


From a distance, the Evo looks like a standard running shoe; it features a mesh/synthetic upper with standard tongue and lacing mechanisms on top of a durable rubber outsole, just like a traditional trainer. If you were to show up at a race wearing these, chances are that 95% of the people wouldn’t notice anything different about your footwear.

This has always been VivoBarefoot’s trademark: making true “barefoot shoes” that allow natural motion and sensory feedback in styles that are fashionable in modern society. I use my Oaks as standard office wear, and the Lesothos can be worn in the most formal settings I’ll ever have to worry about. Likewise, the Evo blends in with the rest of the running shoe crowd; it’s only when you look at the details that the differences become prominent.

Micro-fiber mesh with TPU overlay

What looks like a honeycomb pattern on the top half of the Evo is actually a very thin micro-fiber mesh with a TPU plastic overlay, a material combination that maintains the upper’s shape while providing outstanding breathability. Water passes through easily, but drying time for the upper – with the exception of the heel - is typically only a matter of minutes after being submerged in stream crossings.

Padded heel collar

The rear of the Evo takes a little longer to dry due to a thin layer of padding at the heel collar, and a sockliner that maintains moisture a bit longer than the microfiber mesh. However, even in wet conditions, these two features make the Evo extremely comfortable right out of the box, and continuing for the life of the shoe. You may recall (from my first look post) that my 2nd run in these shoes was a hard-charging 13-miler; that run gave me a small friction spot below my ankle, but that was the only hotspot I’ve experienced in all my running since then, even on the days I’ve gone sockless. Like other VivoBarefoot models, the heel of the Evo is very low-profile, which minimizes weight while allowing full range of motion without restriction.

Standard lacing and tongue on uppers

Another “looks normal but isn’t” aspect of the Evo is the standard lacing system on the upper. Like other shoes, the lacing allows you to fine tune the tightness of the upper to your preference. However, pulling the laces tight doesn’t compromise forefoot space or mobility, thanks to the Evo’s wide toe box. The resulting fit is something that’s snug through the bridge and arch of the foot, but roomy enough in front to let the toes spread out naturally upon foot strike. The secure fit of the upper also makes it easy to run track intervals or other speed work, and prevents your foot from sliding forward to the front of the toe box on steep downhills (an especially nice consideration for ultrarunners).

I mentioned a couple of quirks about the fit, and they both pertain to the upper. The main quibble I have is that a flexion crease near the front of the upper creates a slight pressure point across the top of my big toe on one side. I’ve also found that the base of the tongue area can place a bit of pressure on the top of the foot if the lacing is too tight. Both of these conditions have been minor annoyances for me when going sockless, but when I have socks on they’re not especially bothersome.

Below the foot, the Evo has VivoBarefoot’s standard thin insole that can be removed or retained depending on your preferred ground feel (I leave mine in). Without the insole, the thickness of material between your foot and the ground is 4mm, similar to the Oak or Lesotho models. Some barefoot purists consider this too thick, but I find the 4-5mm range (in Vivos as well as other brands) to be a nice balance between good ground feel and reliable protection and durability. The puncture-resistant outsole enables you to feel the all the pebbles and bumps in the road or trail, but there’s little to no discomfort even with sharp or pointy objects you encounter.

Raised honeycomb outsole

To current VivoBarefoot owners, the Evo’s outsole looks familiar, yet very different; it combines the outward-protruding honeycomb pattern of “old-school” models like the Aqua and Dharma, with the thickness of more aggressive treads on the Oak and Lesotho, and some very fine grooves to further improve grip. For road running, it’s more than enough traction than you’ll ever need – and on the trails, they hold up very admirably. After 150 miles, my treads are slightly worn down in the heels, but I don’t think it's unreasonable to expect that the outsole will hold up for several hundred miles or more. This is something I’ll continue to monitor and update.

While the Evo isn’t officially designed as a trail running shoe, since I’ve been ramping up my trail mileage like crazy this spring, I figured that I’d try to make it one anyway. I’ve been pleasantly surprised with its traction on loose gravel and rocky single tracks, as well as steep hills and sloppy stretches of mud. One noticeable drawback is that the outsole becomes slick when completely wet, such as feeling my way across large rocks on the bottom of a river crossing. In those conditions, they seem to slip more easily than standard trail running shoes – but for something that wasn’t really designed as a water shoe, it holds up fairly well.

The outsole is also a primary contributor to the overall weight of the Evo, which is 8.2oz - or 7.2oz if you take out the insole. While that’s fairly light for a running shoe, it’s at the higher end of true minimalist shoes. Based purely on weight, the Evo is “more shoe” than its competitors, but its design and construction provide a bit more protection on the top of the shoe (compared to Vibram and Soft Star) and underfoot (compared to Feelmax); whether that’s a point in its favor or not is up to you.

For most folks, the big decision about the Evo will inevitably be the price point of $160. Obviously, it's expensive. VivoBarefoot (and its parent line, Terra Plana) is known for high quality materials, dependable construction, outstanding durability, and socially responsible business practices – all of which influence the retail price of the products they sell. It’s a company I feel good about supporting - yes, I’ve paid out of pocket for their shoes in the past – and I’ve been extremely happy with the longevity of all their previous models.

What you get in exchange for your money is a very comfortable, extremely well-built multi-purpose shoe that can be used on roads and trails, for track workouts or ultra training, in wet conditions or temperature extremes, which you can confidently expect to last you for at least several hundred miles. Simply put, there's a reason these things are in high demand. And if you want to try them soon, you might want to hurry; interest in the Evo hasn’t really slowed since the initial launch, and I would anticipate the current re-stock is bound to be short lived.

The VivoBarefoot Evo is now available for $140 from the Terra Plana website.


*Product provided by VivoBarefoot.
**See other product reviews on sidebar at right. If you have a product you’d like reviewed, contact me at info@runningandrambling.com.



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50* Miles In Moccasins: Quicksilver 50M Race Report

*It was actually closer to 54, but that’s part of the longer story that follows.

As I indicated in my preview post, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect heading into this year’s Quicksilver 50-Miler. While the race might have been a destination in itself, I had all kinds of hesitation about the gear I wanted to take along for the journey.

Specifically, I really wanted to run in my Soft Star RunAmocs, to test my recent minimalist infatuation in the real-world laboratory of ultrarunning. It would make a nice point of comparison with last year’s race, which I did in standard running shoes, but more or less cruised at a comfortable pace – and after 50 training miles in the 5 days prior - instead of flat-out racing. I’ve always presumed that running in mocs makes me a little slower, and this race would be a great opportunity to quantify exactly how much.

However, despite all the miles I logged in the RunAmocs while cruising around my home trails, relying on them to get me through a hilly 50-miler seemed like something altogether different. Events like Quicksilver, with its 8500' of climbing, quickly chew up and spit out anything – or anyone, for that matter - that’s not built with a healthy dose of toughness, durability and resilience. Add that to the fact that my previous long run in the mocs was only about 30 miles, and you can see why I was a bit uncertain.

Ultimately, I decided to go for it. And thanks to my being an idiot, I actually got a little bit more than I bargained for with the mocs – but I’m getting ahead of myself here, so we should probably just start the report.


After deciding to wear the RunAmocs, I made a few strategic adjustments in my normal approach to the race. One was them was to travel lighter than usual and move more quickly through aid stations; fortunately, Wilderness Running Company set me up with some items (which I’ll review in a separate post later on) expressly for this purpose. Another was to start towards the back of the pack, and try to keep my effort level low through the first half of the race.

One more change for me was that I seemed to do a lot of talking during the race; for example …


We were only six minutes into things before hitting the first major climb of the day - where everyone’s gaze tends to drift downward to the shoes of runners ahead – when I heard the first of many inquiries: Hey – what are those things you’re wearing? I ended up talking to several people about minimal running in general, Soft Star in particular, and what my chances of finishing today’s race in one piece might be. Obviously, since we were still in mile 1, I felt fairly confident – however …


… about 20 minutes in, I confirmed what I thought would be the most challenging aspect of the day: coping with the long, steep downhills that Quicksilver (along with most other Northern CA ultras) is known for. Downhill running generally necessitates a heelstrike for braking, so I really have to slow down and focus on my stride and foot placement to tread lightly through sections like this. I’m hoping it will come more naturally to me with continued practice – but at this point, it’s definitely a struggle.

To make matters worse, I used to be one of those guys who would recklessly bomb downhill sections of races, passing people like crazy while barely keeping myself upright. Being in a position where everyone pulled away from me on slopes like this was, um … difficult.


If you’re a single track guy like me, the most beautiful section of Quicksilver comes early: a 6-mile single track stretch that meanders through heavy tree cover, crosses several wooden footbridges over creeks and streams, and passes in and out of secluded little meadows like this one. If there’s one suggestion I have for this race, it’s that I’d love to see more narrow trails like this one sprinkled intermittently throughout the race.


During mile 10, runners get their first glimpse of scenes that will become very familiar by day’s end: fire roads which comprise the remainder of the course, the reservoir that they’ll see from above and below and left and right for the next several hours, and the ominous Mount Umunhum looming over everything in the distance. Settle in, folks … the heart of Quicksilver begins now.


On the first climb away from the dam, I was kind of mesmerized by these off-road unicyclists. Some people might think running 50 miles is hard - but I can’t even imagine keeping my balance on one of these things, let alone trying to ride one up a steep, bumpy hill. To mention nothing of going downhill. I chatted the riders up a bit on this hill, and also encountered another guy I’d end up spending some unexpected time with.


This is Carl. (Sorry Carl, the picture’s a little blurry.) He was running the 50K, ended up on the same climb at the same time as me, and was equally entranced by the unicyclists. While I was snapping some pictures, he vanished ahead into the distance – and after the unicyclists paused for a break, I continued up the trail on my own.


At mile 17, I passed the abandoned rotary furnace … which only sounds strange if you know that the structure isn’t supposed to show up until mile 37. In hindsight, the whole situation was one of those Blink moments that seemed odd, but I couldn't figure out why: first there was a trail that I didn’t remember from last year, then I passed an aid station (for miles 27,36, and 48) that hadn’t even been set up yet. Then I saw that furnace, and things clicked into place: something was totally wrong.

And yet, up ahead in the distance I saw Carl. I sped up a bit to close the gap, and told him I thought we were off course. Ironically, the fact that both of us were out there – could we have both missed the exact same turn? – caused us to doubt our instincts for a bit longer, and we went another half-mile or so down the trail before coming to our senses.


Here’s another good indication that you’re off course: as far as you can see in every direction, there’s not another person in sight. Carl and I stood there for a minute in disbelief, then headed back the way we came, with our continued solitude confirming the fact that we screwed up. At least there wasn’t anyone there to laugh at us …


… but we couldn’t escape the cold gaze of Mount Umunhum, which kind of gave me the creeps.

It’s impossible to say exactly how far off course we went, but Carl and I estimated it was almost 2 miles in each direction. We eventually backtracked to the turn we missed, where I calculated that I lost about 35-40 minutes of time for the entire out-and-back. Honestly, I amaze myself with the new and unexpected ways I can be an idiot sometimes.


Once we figured out what happened and rejoined the other runners, the trick (for me, at least) was to refrain from trying to make up the time and distance all at once. The urge to “catch up” to where I had been before was overwhelming, but I settled back into a nice rhythm by sharing some walking breaks with folks, and answering the What are those things on your feet? question a few more times. Even so, after our four-mile detour, the Dam Overlook aid station in the distance was a welcome dam sight.


In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been so dam happy to see an aid station in my whole dam life as I was after seeing this one, and knowing I was back on the right dam course.

(I know, I did those jokes last year ... but c'mon - they're too easy.)


The 4-mile loop that takes you away from and back to the aid station is deceptively tough. The hills aren’t severely steep – especially in comparison to what lies ahead – so they seem perfectly runnable if not for the fact that you have more than 20 miles on your legs already. It’s also a popular exercise loop for locals, which always seems to add pressure (since you’ve got a race number pinned to you and all that) to at least break into a light jog and pretend like you’re running. And when you finally make it back to the dam station …


… you’ve got the longest climb of the day waiting for you, before you face these super-steep rollers on your way to the 50K mark.


This doesn’t really have anything to do with my race ... but this guy was also at the 3-mile mark of the race, dressed in full pirate garb and ringing his cowbell like crazy. So I just made a rule: if you’ve got a broken arm, and you still feel like waking up at 5AM to dress like a pirate and ring a cowbell to cheer on runners for 8 or 10 hours, I’m putting you in my blog - no questions asked. And you thought the runners were crazy.


More importantly, at 50K I had a decision to make: should I stay with the RunAmocs, or switch to the shoes I had stashed in my drop bag? Beyond this point – especially with the four “bonus” miles – I would be hitting distances I hadn’t tried before in moccasins. My feet were starting to get achy, but on the whole, they weren’t any worse off than the rest of me, so I decided to press on.

It was either that, or pull up a chair to change my shoes in the shade while the barbecue for the 50K finishers was going on … and I didn’t like my chances of being able to walk away from a scene like that.


Leaving the 50K aid station is one of the longest 4-mile stretches I’ve ever done: you go back up and over the same roller-coaster hills that finished the first 50K, then begin a seemingly relentless climb to the mile 36 Englishtown aid station. However, shortly after leaving the station, you’re met with beautiful views across the valley, as you begin a long out and back stretch to finish the race.


Believe me - it felt MUCH better to see this thing at mile 37 than it did at mile 17. I almost even came to peace with the fact that it was actually mile 41 for me. Almost.


Somewhere around this stretch of fire road to the mile 42 Sierra Azul aid station, I surprised myself a bit in the way I was able to maintain a steady (albeit slow) pace to and from the highest point of the course – and I think it was partially due to the moccasins I was wearing.

Here’s what I mean: since I was wearing mocs, I had to go a lot slower on the steep downhill sections of the race. The tactic cost me time, but I think it saved me some muscle damage, in that my quads weren’t nearly as thrashed as they normally are at this point of an ultra. And despite the fact that my whole body was aching at this stage, I kept a fairly consistent shuffle going through most of the last 12 miles of the race. Slow and steady … someone should write a parable about that or something.


When you see the Hicks Road aid station (miles 38 and 46) the first time, it’s with a touch of apprehension, because you know it’s still a long 4 miles out to the race’s turnaround point. But when you return to it, you’ve only got 4.5 miles left in the whole race – and this is where you finally might start to smell the barn. It other words, it feels awesome to see this station the second time.

Two other quick observations about this scene …

1) As I was downing a GU at the table, one of the volunteers asked how my day was going, which led to the following exchange ..

Me: I’m feeling pretty good.

Her: That’s great. Some people are having a bad day. I heard a couple of guys even went off course for a while.

Me: Gosh, what idiots. Hey – did you notice my moccasins?

2) I’m no detective or anything, but I suspect the guy on the left in the photo above was one of the ones having a bad day.


Shortly after leaving Hicks Road, I passed the point where I had 4 miles to go - which meant that I had run 50 miles on the day. Strictly speaking, the 50 Miles in Moccasins experiment was already a success, but I had four miles still to run. If you remember last year’s report, I was frustrated because I wanted to run more miles on race day but ended up not doing it. This year, I ran extra miles and was frustrated because I didn’t want to. The lesson: I’ll never, ever be happy.


Not to mention, there were still some big obstacles between me and the finish line. Throughout the day, my feet had the most difficulty with 1) steep downhills, 2) rocky downhills, and 3) downhills late in the race. So to say that this long, steep, frequently rocky descent at mile 49 was a challenge is something of an understatement.


At long last, I made it to the finish, but not before getting passed by two people in the final half-mile. Judging by the way they bombed past me, I’m guessing that neither of them was wearing mocs.


Afterwards, it was time to relax … and you know what I didn’t want to do? Take off my moccasins. Normally after an ultra, the first thing I have to do is shed my shoes to relieve all the pressure points and let my feet feel normal again.


In my RunAmocs, there were no blisters (also largely attributable to my Drymax socks) or pressure spots, and my feet felt as natural as when I’m walking around barefoot. So I just kept them on for a while.


Of course, I did eventually take them off, and they were really no worse for wear on the top. As for the outsoles …


They’re showing some signs of age. This race put me close to 300 overall miles on my trail soles, and they’re certainly wearing down in the heel area, as well as under the balls of my feet. The leather to the inside of the right heel is wearing thin as I naturally pronate worse on this side, and roll inward on the moccasin last. So while I’m confident that the RunAmocs have more mileage in them, I’m starting to think of 400-500 total miles as a ballpark estimate of how long they’ll last before I might need to replace them.


But those are other worries for other days (and other blog posts). For now, I was left to kick back and enjoy the barbecue, and ponder how my 9:33 finish time with a 4-mile detour should compare to a 9:06 time without the detour one year ago. Simple math would say that this year’s race was better, but I have to remind myself that last year I purposely took it easy at the end of a super-high mileage week. On the other hand, the fact that I was in better overall shape last year might score a point in favor of the mocs.

I do seem to be in quite a bit more pain right now than I remember after last year, but that might be simply because last year’s race was, well .. last year. My calves in particular are extremely sore, and I’m still having trouble walking normally almost three days after the race. It’s tough to tell whether that pain increase is attributable to the mocs, or simply because I haven’t done one of these ultras for a while.

I guess the only way to find out for sure is to keep on trying.

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XtremeMac iPhone Sportwrap Review

Admin note: the Quicksilver 50M went almost as well as I could have expected, with one very significant exception that will be obvious once the report is posted. And congrats to Michael for figuring out that I’d do the race in moccasins. The full report will be posted soon - and in the meantime, a somewhat unorthodox product review has been in the hopper for a while, so this is as good a time as any to roll it.

*

I was initially contacted back in March by a rep from Mobile Fun, a UK-based vendor of personal electronics accessories, asking if I’d like to test an exercise holster for the iPhone. I was perfectly willing to do it, except for one minor detail: I don’t actually own an iPhone. So we worked out an arrangement where I could designate an associate to test the product and post his review here. (In a related story, I’m now referring to this little enterprise of mine as Running and Rambling Incorporated. Who knows - I might even plan a company Christmas party this year.)

In some ways, I’m surprised I didn’t think of this sooner: after all, my friend Brian has served as my tech support person for as long as I’ve been conducting product reviews. We have whole conversations about things like running shoe construction, the hydrodynamics of moisture-wicking garments, or the weight to performance ratios of all types of gear. I often think of him as the Beaker to my Bunsen Honeydew – although since he’s the one who actually knows how things work, and I’m always the one with some crazy contraption strapped to my body, maybe I’ve got those roles reversed.

Me and Brian, or maybe Brian and me; sometimes it's hard to tell who's who.

Whatever the case, the following review is in his own words, and I have to say he did a pretty nice job.

**

I had the opportunity to review the XtremeMac Sportwrap, an armband designed to keep your iPhone or iPod touch safe and secure while active. XtremeMac is a company that has been around since the beginning (in the iPod calendar, that goes all the way back to 2002), offering add-on products for the iPod and iPhone including a number of popular cases, cables and chargers.

The design of the Sportwrap features a pouch on the "inside" of the armband that you slip your iPhone into. A clear plastic cover on the outside allows you to view and operate the touchscreen while the iPhone is in the case. The top of the pouch has two small cutouts that allow access to the iPhone's on/off switch and headphone jack. There is no access to your iPhone's side ringer and volume controls. The case is secured to your arm with a strap that loops though one side of the unit and then folds back and secures with a velcro closure. The armband and pouch are made of a stretchy and comfortable combination of neoprene and Lycra.


The Sportwrap is lightweight - coming in at about 50g (less than 2 ounces) and weighing about 185 grams (6.5 ounces) with my iPhone. It has removable headphone cord wrap that you can use to secure extra headphone wire.


My iPod fit into the pouch easily and an overlapping flap of neoprene covered the opening. The fact that there was no additional padding - besides the neoprene pouch - between the iPhone and my arm had me a bit concerned about how comfortable the case would be. Strapping it on was no problem and I experimented with different locations and orientations. I could feel the firmness of the iPhone in the pouch, but it was not as uncomfortable as I expected. However, I do suspect that the lack of additional padding narrowed my choice of comfortable positions. I also noticed that some size adjustments did not feel secure. The size of the "hook" part of the velcro, on the end of the strap, seemed too small and the "pile" on the body of the strap was made of four pieces - with gaps between them - rather than a continuous strip. If your preferred strap size happens to fall where the end of the strap (the "hooks") folds back to one of these gaps in the "pile", you don't get a real secure grip.

The most comfortable orientation for me was wrapped low on my biceps, just above the elbow with the pouch iPhone in the back. Unfortunately this gave me poor access to the touchscreen. Still I found this to be a comfortable "set it and forget it " position - especially on long runs. If I needed access to the touchsceen, I preferred to wear the strap on my forearm, with the iPhone facing up. I found this to work quite well for me, but it was on very edge the adjustment range for the strap (it would not go any smaller). I really liked wearing it in this position when I was using the one of the GPS or Track/Time and Distance recoding apps available for the iPhone. If the strap featured a better adjustment range and more secure closure I could have strapped the unit to my handlebars while biking which would have been more comfortable that wearing it on my forearm and given me a better view of the GPS display.

Once I had it secured, the strap worked very well in most situations. Even with the considerable bulk of the iPhone (compared to other mp3 players) strapped to my arm, I found that after a few miles, I had no real awareness of the case at all. The only significant problem I had with the case surfaced during a hard track workout on a warm day. After about an hour I noticed that the the screen was fogging up. A lot of moisture had built up inside the case - enough to have me concerned about the health of my iPhone. I wiped down my phone and let the case dry out. Up to that point I had only used the Sportwrap on early morning runs when the outside temperature was low and I was often wearing a long sleeve shirt. I do continue to use the Sportwrap, but only on easy training days when I know that moisture should not be an issue.


What I like most about the Sportwrap was the construction and materials. I look like it rugged and high quality - from the choice of materials to the stitching. Everything was soft, rounded, stretchy and comfortable. The display was clear and allowed the touch screen to function flawlessly. The removable headphone wire wrap was a nice touch. The biggest shortcoming to the design was the level of moisture protection. The inside-positioned neoprene pouch and flap were just not enough keep the iPhone dry and did not provide enough padding. I also felt that the design of the strap velcro closure system could be improved to create a more secure fit and greater range of adjustment.

The XtremeMac Sportwrap and additional iPhone accessories are available from MobileFun.co.uk (UK outlet - the first link above is a US outlet) and other online vendors.


*Product provided by MobileFun.co.uk
**See other product reviews on sidebar at right. If you have a product you'd like reviewed, contact me at info@runningandrambling.com.

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Again to Quicksilver

A beat-up, broken-down rotary furnace left to suffer and eventually collapse in solitude at mile 37 of the Quicksilver 50M course; also a pretty good representation of how my legs felt at mile 37 last year.


Chances are, by the time you’re reading this I’ll be on course at the Quicksilver 50-Mile Run. What condition I’ll be in is anyone’s guess.

Last year this race was part of a strategic build-up to the Western States 100 at the end of June; this time around, with no 100-miler looming on my calendar, Quicksilver is a destination in itself. The change is rather refreshing – racing just for the sake of testing my limits while doing something I love, rather than merely checking another task off my preparation list in order to satisfy an anxious preoccupation with something else further down the road.

That’s not to say I’m going to feel great out there, however. The downside of not having a 100-miler towering over the race calendar is that my training focus becomes a little bit hazy, and this spring has been a perfect example. I’m not in nearly the race shape I was in one year ago, and all the mental fortitude I built in past seasons is still packed away and covered in a thin layer of dust in some forgotten corner of my mind’s attic. I’m sure I’ll find it eventually … but it will probably take a little more searching than I’m accustomed to.

I’ve also decided to put an unconventional twist on this year’s race, but I’m withholding any further disclosure about that until afterwards, once I see how the whole thing plays out. If you’ve been paying attention around here for a while, it shouldn’t be very hard to guess what I’m talking about … but you’ll have to wait for the race report to get the details.

Hopefully they will all make for an interesting story.

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How Young Is Too Young?

If you haven’t heard of Jordan Romero yet, chances are that you will in the very near future.

Jordan is a 13-year-old Californian who is currently making a summit attempt on Mount Everest; it’s the kind of story that simultaneously makes you say “Whoa, cool!” and “Wait … what?” His journey has gained a lot of attention, with recent profiles on all the major network news programs and CNN (which used to be a major news outlet), as well as a great deal of family-driven self-promotion from his website and various new media outlets.

image from JordanRomero.com

The prospect of an adolescent kid taking on Mount Everest – as well as the parents who support and fund such an undertaking – is far too complicated for me to analyze in a single blog post. That’s why I was thrilled to read an outstanding feature article on Jordan’s quest in Outside Magazine last month – the link for which is provided below.

While reading that article, I was reminded of a New York Times piece from last fall that recalled a generation of very young kids who ran the New York City Marathon before age limits were instituted. On some levels, it was just a matter of scale between concerns the running community had back then, and those that the mountain climbing community is struggling with now. Obviously, climbing Mount Everest is a much bigger, much more potentially deadly pursuit than running an ultra, but many of the considerations for and against such activities are quite similar.

That’s the premise I used for the Monterey Herald article that follows. This was also one of those rare times when I’m thankful for an editor-enforced word count, because I could have very easily stretched this from 600 words to 1500 without even looking up from the monitor. However, you’ll be shortchanging yourselves if you skip the more detailed articles - especially the one on Romero – so be sure to follow those links for a more comprehensive read on the situations.

I also had a lot of help on this article from a friend of mine who happens to be the medical director of the Big Sur Marathon. He has an interesting perspective on the issue, having been one of those kids who ran a marathon at age 13 and a 50-miler at age 14, and who is now a member of the board that enforces the 16-year-old age minimum at Big Sur. The point of the article below isn’t necessarily to make a recommendation about these guidelines one way or the other; my intention was mainly to throw a question out there that might trigger some interesting discussion.

Finally, if you want to track Jordan’s progress in something close to real time, his team posts frequent updates here on his blog. The question of whether or not he should be there is now moot; the only thing left for us to do in this case is follow along and see what happens.


Running Life 5/6/10 “How Young is Too Young?”

As you’re reading this, 13-year-old Jordan Romero of Big Bear, CA, is bivouacked at 22,000’ on the slopes of Mount Everest, preparing for a summit bid that would make him the youngest person ever to stand on the world’s highest peak.

Despite his age, Romero is no novice; he’s climbed to the highest points on five other continents, and has more mountaineering experience than many “tourist climbers” who pay for guided expeditions on Everest. However, his attempt has been met with equal parts praise and outrage by experienced mountain climbers. Some see him as a role model for a generation of unhealthy, overweight kids. Others consider him a poster boy for reckless ambition and misguided parental prioritization. [See Outside Magazine’s profile of Jordan.]

The question is simple, but the answer is incredibly complex: how old should kids be before taking on extreme athletic challenges?

The running community grapples with a similar dilemma – albeit on a less dramatic scale than mountain climbing – in considering at what age children should be permitted to enter marathons or ultramarathons. Nearly every race today has a minimum age requirement, but in the 1970s, very young runners were somewhat commonplace at major marathons.

Prior to instituting a minimum age of 18 in 1981, the New York City Marathon saw approximately 75 runners aged 8 to 13 cross its finish line in the late 1970s. [See this New York Times article.] The Los Angeles Marathon’s Students Run LA program annually trains kids ages 12 to 18 to finish the event. Locally, the Big Sur Marathon’s minimum age is 16 – although in an interesting twist, its medical director ran his first marathon at age 13, and his first ultra at age 14. Last month, four 16-year-olds successfully completed Big Sur's challenging 26.2-mile Highway 1 course.

So how young is too young? Is 12 or 16 more risky than 18? What about 10? Or 8? And what exactly is the rationale for any of these guidelines?

The American Academy of Pediatricians recommends that runners focus on shorter events like the 10K or half-marathon until age 18. A group called the International Marathon Medical Directors Association cites the AAP guideline in its own recommendation for an 18-year-old age requirement. Curiously, the standards are based as much on psychological considerations as they are on physiology.

For example, it’s true that kids with developing bones and muscles are highly susceptible to overuse injuries with endurance running – but this is a consequence for many adults who train excessively as well. Children’s bodies aren’t as adept at thermoregulation, leaving them susceptible to heat-related problems during a race – but the bodies of novice marathoners are equally unprepared in this regard. Overall, the physical risks of the marathon for youngsters aren’t significantly greater than those for adults.

Instead, the primary concern expressed by most running authorities, as well as grown-ups who started as extremely young distance runners, is that kids might be trying the marathon for the wrong reasons, and might burn out on running relatively early in life. From a standpoint of promoting lifelong health, it’s always better for runners of any age to build up to the marathon gradually, over a period of years instead of weeks. And if parental pressures are any factor in a child entering the marathon, the likelihood of he or she continuing as independent adults is fairly low.

In the end, every situation is unique to the individuals involved, in running just as it is in mountain climbing. There will always be precocious kids who are physically gifted and genuinely self-driven enough to take on such challenges, and there will always be some who are better off building up to such things patiently. The only things we can wish for Jordan Romero or any other young athletes are for them always to be safe, have fun, and develop a passion for healthy activity that lasts a lifetime.

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